Dance of Shadows
by Rhien Elleth
Summary: BSG 2003 fic, AU, picks up where the mini left off, Lee-Kara.
1. Chapter 1

Title: DANCE OF SHADOWS

Author: Rhien Elleth

Rating: R

Author's Note: This is a BSG 2003 fic, AU, Lee/Kara.  It takes place immediately following where the mini left off.  Please ask before archiving, as I probably won't archive it anywhere until completed.  Thanks go to **Cryswimmer** for taking on the task of beta for this. :)

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, BSG, etc, etc.

Chapter One

It caught her unaware, sliding eel-like under her guard just beneath the tide of exhaustion that dragged her into sleep.  She should have known, should have fortified against the sly, sneaking assault, jerked herself awake as she used to, back when the dream had plagued her every damn night.

But it hadn't come in a long time.  Over a year.  Her guard had understandably dropped since then.  And she, like everyone else aboard the fleet carrying all that remained of humanity, was utterly, completely exhausted.  Physically, mentally, emotionally.  They'd escaped death - escaped genocide -- by a hair's breath, and the resulting adrenaline crash had everyone not on duty seeking bed, and the oblivion of sleep.

But for Kara, the sweet dark of oblivion never came.  

Because the frakking dream rose up through her subconscious like smoke, engulfed her in the familiar, in the comforting, before she knew what was happening - and then rolled her under, so she couldn't break free.

"Kara!"

Her mother's voice was distant, and free of tension, something Kara's mind processed automatically.  She was free to ignore it for a little time, yet, without fear of getting into trouble.  The eight-year-old girl brushed awareness of it aside, and kept playing.

It was early summer, the days pleasantly warm, while the air in the evenings had a chill bite to it yet.  It was evening now, the sun going down over Caprica's horizon.  The last dance of its light turned the surface of the pond to molten gold, the tall grasses around her blowing gently in the cool evening breeze.  

But Kara's attention wasn't on the beauty of her favorite spot, and neither was she deliberately hiding in the growing shadows of dusk.  She held perfectly still, every muscle tense and waiting, hardly daring to breath.  The bulbous eyes of a pond frog breached the water's surface, and Kara crept slowly forward, hands poised.  She moved silently, easing herself over grass she'd smashed down with previous treks to the water's edge, evidence of this in the green stains covering her overalls.

"Kara!"  A hint of exasperation in her mother's voice, now, but not enough to break an eight-year-old's determined concentration.

She leaned down, stretching precariously forward in an effort to move as little as possible.  _Almost, _she thought, fingers reaching, body tensing to pounce on her unsuspecting prey.

"Where is that frakkin' brat?"  

The deeper, masculine voice of her father was wholly unexpected.  Kara froze, every muscle in her small body rigid.  Why wasn't he at work?  He always worked late in Caprica City.  

His voice was heavy, with an all-too-familiar slur of drink to it.  She heard her mother's nervous laugh in response to the question, heard her off-hand reply from only a few feet away.

"Oh, she's always playing out here, Karl.  You know how kids are - too busy running and climbing, and getting dirty to listen when they're being called.  _Kara!_"

But this time the note of exasperation had completely disappeared, and Kara heard only anxious desperation in her mother's voice.  Her father, she knew, could be mean and scary when he drank.

"Frakkin' useless brat," he muttered, it seemed from right above her.  She tried to move, tried to stand up, and smile, and tell them she was right there, but her body wouldn't obey her.  His voice sounded too ugly, already veering toward the hateful tone it had right before he abandoned words for fists.  And she didn't want to be a target for them.  

"She's just a child," her mother said tightly.  "A little girl out playing.  I can find her, Karl.  Why don't you go back inside?"  _Back to your bottle._  Even at eight, the words were automatic for Kara to think.  The bottle was the only thing her father loved.  Not her.  Not her mother, who still bore the bruises from his last beating.  

"You tellin' me what to do, you stupid bitch?"

And as quickly as that, the time of words was over.  

"No, I --"

The unmistakable sound of fist striking flesh was loud, and Kara flinched as her mother cried out.  _Mama!_  But she didn't move, either.  Didn't dare.

The sounds continued, the grass rustling a few feet to Kara's left, her mother sobbing.  She could hear his breathing, and ragged, mumbled words.

"Your frakkin' fault. . .bitch. . .you and that brat. . . your fault. . ."

She could just see him from where she crouched, could see his arm rise and fall with the blows.  And when it rose and fell again, something red and wet sprayed the strands of grass inches from Kara's face.  Her mother's sobs stopped.  So did everything else.  Her father didn't move, the grass went still.  Something inside Kara turned cold, deathly cold with fear.

_MamaMamaMama__!_

But the word was lodged in her throat.  Her mouth opened, no sound emerging.

An endless time later, she heard his voice -- no longer ugly and mean, but broken and quivering, like he was crying.  

"Liana?  _Liana?_"  And then he was sobbing - Papa was _sobbing!_

Somehow her frozen limbs moved.  Kara crept forward through the grass, moving aside the tall strands so she could see. . .and her mother's beautiful green eyes stared back at her, open and unseeing, her pretty face splattered with blood.  

Kara screamed. . .

. . .and jerked awake, panting.  Her stomach twisted, nausea rising to her throat, and she lunged out of her bunk.  She barely made it to the latrine in time to dry heave her guts out.  By the time it passed, she was breathing heavily and tasting bile.

"Frak," she muttered, and rose shakily to her feet.  _Why?  Why now?  Lords, I thought I was over this._

"Starbuck?"  It was Freya, one of her bunkmates, standing sleepily by the hatch.  "You okay?"

Kara forced a smile for the other woman.  

"Fine," she managed, and bent over one of the sinks to splash cold water over her face.  She didn't offer any explanations, and the other pilot shrugged and left without asking for one.  After all, nearly everyone onboard had emotional trauma they were dealing with.  Kara doubted that a single survivor remained who had _not _lost loved ones in the past three days.  It made a nightmare that had plagued her since childhood seem petty by comparison.  

But knowing that wasn't going to help her get back to sleep.  She looked up and met her own gaze in the mirror.  

_I have her eyes.  _The thought popped into her head before she could stop it, brought the dream rushing back.  Anger welled with it, and she took refuge in the familiar emotion, used it to force away her mother's image. _I will not be weak._

Kara threw her towel at the mirror in disgust, turned on her heel and stalked back to her bunk.  She pulled on a flight suit and headed for the hatch, intending to spend the empty hours of the night flying patrol, if she could charm the Chief out of a Viper.  Hers was still under repair.

And flying, as always, would make everything ok.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Commander Adama felt something unusual that morning, stepping onto the command deck for the first time since the _Galactica's_harrowing escape from the Cylons.  Something that replaced his normally serious demeanor with an uncharacteristically wide smile.  

It might have been the sight of his crew, working diligently at repairing the damage done to _Galactica's_ systems during that final attack.  Or, it could have been seeing Lieutenant Gaeta and Colonel Tigh with their heads bent together, over a recently scanned star map of nearby space.  It might have been the small smile of greeting Dee gave him, from where she sat at her station.

Or, perhaps it was simply the sight of his son, standing on this deck, on this ship.  _His _ship. 

Lee was pouring over his own copy of those star maps, hand threaded through his dark blond hair, his lips moving slightly as he made notations on a datapad beside him.  No doubt plotting the best patrol routes for his pilots.  And William Adama felt another surge of pride at that thought.  His son, CAG officer on the _Galactica__._Following in the old man's footsteps.  

He allowed his grin to widen for just a moment, before schooling his expression back into its characteristic stoicism.  

"Been here since 0500 this morning," said a familiar voice at his elbow.  Paul had moved to stand beside him, and now nodded his head toward Lee.  "Taking his new duties seriously."

Adama raised an eyebrow, glancing sideways at the sour note in his old friend's voice.

"You had doubts?" he asked, truly curious.  Paul was one of the few on this ship unafraid of differing his opinion from the Commander's - which was just one of the many reasons Adama valued him.  

The Colonel shrugged.

"He and the new President were pretty chummy when they arrived together - enough that I wondered which way his priorities would swing."

Adama frowned, resting his eyes back on his son.  He weighed Colonel Tigh's words, thought of what he knew of President Roslin, and her not inconsiderable charisma.  Finally, he shook his head.

"Since he got his wings, Apollo's been a Viper pilot to the bone -- first, last, and always.  That's certainly not going to change now."

Paul gave another shrug of his shoulders.  "He's your son - I suppose you'd know him better than most."

_Would I?_  Adama wondered.  He and Lee had only just really started speaking again, and thinking back, he questioned how much talking they'd ever done before.  The military had, unfortunately, always taken priority over valuable time with his family.  It was why Catherine had left him, after all.  

Catherine, his wife - ex-wife - now dead on Caprica, with all the rest.  He meant to speak about it with Lee, later.  He wanted to do something more personal for her than the general ceremony they'd held for all the dead, in _Galactica's_ cargo bay.

"So, tell me about where we are," he said aloud, abruptly changing the subject.  No time, now, for dwelling on grief.  

Tigh just shook his head.  "So far as we can tell, no where.  Nothing here but a couple of gaseous giants, rocks too hot to land on, and some asteroids and comets we don't have the time to mine."  He cocked his head at Adama.  "Unless you feel we're safe enough from the Cylons to stop for a while."

"No."  He shook his head.  "Not yet.  I'd prefer to keep the fleet moving, start consolidating what we _do_ have before bringing in new resources."  He rubbed a hand over his chin.  "President Roslin has people taking inventory of the cargo ship holds - at this point anything they find will probably prove useful in some way.   She's also got scientists like Gaius Baltar designing ways we can produce nutritious food for the future.  In the meantime, everyone's on rations."  He paused, shrugged. 

"But realistically, that's the new government's job.  Ours is protecting this fleet and exploring which route is best to take through uncharted space."

Tigh smiled.  "Yes sir.  That we can do."  

***

By the time Lee made it down to the flight deck, he'd already been up and working for nearly five hours.  He was starting to see star charts every time he closed his eyes, and he could feel the beginnings of a vicious headache forming, but it was worth it.  

He had flight paths mapped for the next seventy-two hours, patrols assigned, and he'd met with Chief Tyrol first thing.  He knew exactly how many Vipers were available, how many pilots to fly them, how many deck hands to repair and build them, and they'd discussed bringing the starboard launching bay back from the ignominy of becoming a gift shop.

Which, he judged by the time - 0950 -- should be well under way.  

And he had a full day yet ahead of him.  Checking on the wounded roster to find out who would be cleared for active duty again, and when.  A briefing at 1500 hours with the senior brass.  Finding out when his own Viper, and Kara's, would be ready for flight.  Settling his things into the CAG quarters, which had only been cleaned of Ripper's belongings this morning.  

Lee had slept in a spare bunk in one of the pilot's quarters, which they seemed to have no shortage of.  And that was worrisome in itself - the serious lack of trained pilots left to fly.  

When he stepped off the lift, he was rubbing a hand over his temples, hoping the headache would go away without having to take a pain med.  Of course, the noise level on deck did little to help.  Anything involving work on Vipers, it seemed, was noisy as hell.  

The cacophony of sound hit him like a physical blow -- machinery, metal grinding on metal, voices raised to be heard over the din - and he stopped dead for a moment.  

"Frak," he muttered, sure no one could hear the new CAG cursing in all the clamor.

"Well, don't hold back," drawled a familiar voice.  "Tell me how you really feel."

_Frak__._But this time he only thought it, and without much feeling.  He looked up resignedly.

"Starbuck."  

And looked again.  She wasn't wearing the flight suit he'd been expecting, despite her grounded bird.  Instead, she was half suited up in the same coveralls everyone else was wearing, smeared from head to toe with black grease, and sporting a couple of really nasty looking bruises.  

At least, he thought they were bruises, as they appeared to match a painful looking laceration that started at her neck and traveled down to her collarbone, disappearing beneath the regulation tank she always wore off-duty.

Lords, he did not need this.

"I'm not going to be sending you to the brig, am I?" he asked after a moment.  

She smirked, though he noted it seemed a bit lacking compared to her usual cocky grin.  He couldn't quite place it, but something was. . .off.  It set alarm bells to ringing in his head.

"Not unless wrestling with a wing mounting is suddenly against regulations.  Sir."

But the flippant tone sounded forced.  He frowned, examining her face minutely.  She wouldn't quite meet his gaze, another warning sign that something was wrong.  Beneath all the grease her face was pale and gaunt, and dark circles surrounded her eyes.  Both were evidence of a sleepless night.  He caught a glimpse of new shadows crowding those green depths as she cast her gaze away from him.  Shadows she didn't want him to see.  Fine, he'd play along.  For now.  

Apollo craned his head to look at the Viper laid out in pieces on the deck behind her.  Kara gave a casual shrug in response to the question he hadn't yet voiced.

"Chief wouldn't let me take out another Viper, so I've been whiling away the time working on mine. . ."

Which he could see, perfectly clearly, sitting in one pristine piece, _behind_ the one strewn all over the deck.  

". . .and then yours."

_Excuse me?_  His mouth dropped open in horror.  "What?" he asked faintly.

She clapped a hand to his shoulder, smearing grease all over his flight suit.  "I figured since _my_ crazy stunt broke it - well, part of it -- I might as well be the one to fix it.  Don't worry, Lee.  I know as much about putting a Viper back together as any of these guys."  

She jerked her thumb at the deck hands working all around them.  Most of them, Lee noted suddenly, were giving the two of them a wide berth.  _Not wanting to get caught in the cross fire.  _Pilots were well known to be territorial, even superstitious, about their Vipers.  Lee was no exception, and Kara damn well knew it.

Without a word, he pushed past her.

"C'mon, Lee.  You're not going to get mad about this, are you?  The Chief's short-handed down here, what with all the work they're doing in the starboard launching bay.  This'll get us back out flying that much sooner."

"Mad?"  He practically choked out the word, looking in disbelief from his Viper, to her, and back again.  "Just look at it!  Kara, what were you _thinking_?  Chief Tyrol actually gave you _permission _to do this?"  

He wanted to strangle her, the urge so powerful he curled his hands into fists.  Lords, she hadn't pissed him off this much since their Academy days.

She shrugged.  "Mostly."

"Mostly?" he echoed, twisting back toward her.  "What do you mean, 'mostly'?"

"Well. . .he set me to work with Cally on my Viper early this morning, and by the time we finished, he was off duty.  I just figured, what the hell, yours and mine got wrecked together, so. . ."

"You just figured?"  

He seemed incapable of any speech that didn't parrot hers.  Cally, who had been cringing to one side during this conversation, trying to be as small and unnoticeable as possible, suddenly moved into his field of vision.  He wouldn't have remembered her name if Kara hadn't mentioned it just moments ago, but he did remember the diminutive young woman as being a very capable member of Chief Tyrol's crew.  

"Sir, this is fine, really," she managed in a small voice, barely discernable over the noise all around them.  "I've been doing most of the work, and the Lieutenant's been. . ."  Her gaze drifted to Starbuck, then back to him.  ". . .the Lieutenant's been here, helping move and lift the heavier pieces.  _For_ _some time, now_, _sir_."

He would have had to be blind, deaf _and_ stupid to miss the emphasis on the last sentence, the meaningful look the young woman was sending him.  He frowned, most of the anger draining away.  He suspected Cally had been assigned to his Viper with or without Starbuck's presence, and that Kara had simply invited herself in on the repairs.  

And all of this had very neatly distracted him from questioning Kara about whatever was bothering her.  Damn it.  He sent her a fulminating look.

"You," he said sharply.  "My office.  Now."  

She opened her mouth to protest, a mutinous look on her face.

"That's an order, Lieutenant."

When she still hesitated, he leaned in, so only she would hear him, and bit off each word.  "Don't undermine my authority, Kara.  I _will _drag you bodily onto that lift if you force me to."

She snapped her mouth shut, not quite hiding a sneer.  

"Yes, sir."  And she spun on her heel away from him, stalking to the lift.

Lee waited a moment before following, wishing he had that pain med handy.  His headache had just spiked, throbbing painfully in time with his pulse.  _Frak__._

But he was careful not to say it.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Kara hit the lift controls the second she was inside.  No way was she sharing the ride up with that pompous, emotionally stunted, unappreciative _asshole_.  She crossed her arms over her chest and turned to smirk at him as the safety doors slid shut.

It would have been a whole lot more satisfying, of course, if he'd actually been looking at her.  Or even if he'd walked toward the lift with the intention of taking it.  Instead, he still stood with his back to her, staring down at the pieces of his Viper.  _As if the frakking thing isn't going back together again._

She made a rude noise in her throat, pacing the confines of the lift as it rose.  

"It never fails," she muttered to the empty air.  "A little promotion, a little more power, and suddenly he has a frakking superiority complex.  Just like every other asshole in the Fleet."

Of course, it might have been just a _little_ presumptuous on her part to rip his Viper apart.  Maybe.  But that nagging guilt wasn't enough to turn aside the wave of anger she was riding.  It felt good, familiar.  Made her want to hit something.

It was just her luck that the corridor was empty when the lift finally stopped.  She'd have enjoyed getting sent to the brig this morning.  _Maybe there, I could get some sleep._

It was that thought, finally, that had the anger ebbing.  She tried to hold onto it, tried almost desperately to build it back up, to keep from tumbling back down to where she'd started her day.  But the damage was done.  

By the time she reached the CAG office, the nausea was back.  With it came exhaustion.  She had to drag each foot forward, one after the other, until she could collapse into a chair in Ripper's - no, Lee's -- office.  Chilled to the bone, she sat and shivered, and waited.  _Frak__, Thrace, pull yourself together before Lee gets here.  _The last thing she wanted was to have to explain herself to her friend, anymore than she already did.

But it seemed the lack of sleep and morning's labor had taken their toll.  The best she could hope for, at the moment, was keeping the nausea controlled.  She did _not_ want to throw up in Lee's new office.  

Which, she noticed suddenly, he must not have moved into, yet.  The walls, the desk, the floor - everything was bare.  Not a single reminder of Ripper remained, and the air had that faint antiseptic smell that said maintenance had been through here recently, cleaning every spare surface.  The door to his sleeping quarters was open, and she could see the same military thoroughness there, as well.  

She wondered, briefly, what they'd done with Ripper's things.  Had his wife made it off Geminon?  Did he have sisters or brothers?  Children?  She couldn't remember, and the realization unexpectedly depressed her.  

How could she have served under the man for two years, and know so little about him?  Not even enough for a proper eulogy.

The door opening interrupted her thoughts, and years of training had her on her feet and at attention despite the roiling of her stomach.  Beads of sweat broke out on her brow, even as she still shivered with cold.  _Not good.  Please, Lords, don't let me be sick._

She could see the stiffness of Lee's posture from the corner of her eye, knew he was braced for a fight.  Wished he'd get it frakking over with, so she could go crawl into her bunk.  

He came around to stand in front of his desk, facing her, and frowned.  He'd always been a little hard for her to read; one thing Lee Adama excelled at was keeping his emotions in check.  And now, with his face as stiff and expressionless as his father's, she couldn't begin to guess what he would say, or how angry with her he might still be.  

Even if she'd tried, she'd have been wrong.

"Sit down, before you fall down."

There was no anger, no tightly controlled frustration in his tone.  In fact, he sounded. . .concerned.  She stared at him for a moment in shock, and Lee raised a single brow.

"That's an order, Kara.  I will throw you bodily into that chair, if I have to."  He smiled faintly.

She sat.  So did he, choosing the edge of his desk, rather than the chair behind it.  For some reason, she now dreaded this conversation far more than she had a few minutes ago.  A dressing down didn't intimidate her.  That look in Lee's eyes did.

She waited while he looked away for a moment, rubbed at his temples in a habit she knew well.  He had a headache, probably a bad one.  And as usual, wasn't taking a med for it.  _Stupid, stubborn Adama men,_ she thought, briefly amused.  But his next words sobered her instantly.

"You going to tell me about it?" he asked quietly, looking intently at her once more.  

She kept her own gaze fixed firmly on his shoulder - the one she'd inadvertently smeared with grease.  It didn't raise even a flicker of amusement in her, now.  She didn't try to dissemble, not with Lee.  It wouldn't have gotten her anywhere.

"No."  

"Kara. . ."

She dropped her eyes, tried unsuccessfully to rub the grease off her fingers.

"Damn it, Kara."  Now came the frustration.  

She just shook her head, jaw clenched tight.  Very few people had the power to move her to tears.  For reasons she refused to examine very closely, the Adama men had all been blessed with that ability.  

"Look at you!"  Agitated, Lee stood up, waved a hand in her general direction.  "You're exhausted, you've barely slept, if at all, and Cally tells me you've been working your ass off down on the flight deck for half the night, and all this morning!"  

He crouched down in front of her, took both of her hands in his own.  "I'm your commanding officer, but I'm also your friend.  What's going on, Kara?"

It took real effort, now, not to meet his eyes.  She tried unsuccessfully to tug her hands free, but he only tightened his hold.  Then he played his trump card.

"Do I have to go to the Commander with this?"

She glared at him, realizing too late that he'd trapped her.  Caught by those damn blue eyes, she couldn't look away, and his threat had shame and anger warring within her.  She took a deep breath, and then another.  When she was sure she could speak levelly, she said,

"That was low, Lee.  Really frakking low."

He shrugged, completely unrepentant.  

"I'm not above using my father as leverage, Kara.  If you think _I_ won't let this go, how do you suppose he'll respond?"  He paused, let her think on that for a second.  "He worries, you know.  About you.  The way he would for one of his own children."

And that did bring a sting of tears to her eyes.  

"Unfair," she managed, wiping ineffectually at her face.  She frakking hated crying in front of anyone.  

"Here."  Lee shook his head, smiling.  "You're just making it worse, smearing grease all over the place."

She waited patiently, like a child, while he used a white square of cloth to clean her face of both tears and grease.  His touch was gentle and firm, his hands warm where they brushed her skin.  She realized suddenly that she'd stopped shivering.  Her stomach had settled.  

The room began to feel uncomfortably close, and strangely warm.  She took a deep breath, only to inhale Lee - the soap he used in the shower, the faint masculine scent of aftershave, and a trace of whatever chemical they used in the laundry to clean flight suits.  

It shouldn't have been in any way arousing.  It was.  

"Great, thanks," she said quickly, snatching the cloth from his hand and standing up so fast she was almost dizzy.  "I've got it."

He just looked at her, his lips parted as if he'd been about to say something.  Kara watched him warily, trying to appear like she wasn't watching him at all.  He stood up, his flight suit shifting and tightening in interesting places with the movement.  W_hy the hell was she noticing the way Lee filled out a flight suit?  Frak!  _

Going for casual, she turned her back to him, trying to regain some semblance of composure, and hiding her suddenly burning face all at the same time.  _Post-battle stress,_ she told herself firmly.  _Anyone with a bunk big enough for two and the illusion of privacy is having a little post-battle fun.  It's just a natural physiological response, and has nothing to do with Lee whatsoever!_

She cleared her throat, wondered why the hell he wasn't saying anything.  He'd certainly had plenty to say before.

"Look," she said finally, twisting the cloth she held into knots, "I didn't have the most restful sleep last night.  I went to the hangar hoping the Chief would let me fly, and when he didn't, I put myself to work instead."

Lee didn't answer right away, and the silence in the room felt heavy with things left unspoken.  Kara closed her eyes.

"Because you couldn't sleep, or because you didn't want to?" he asked finally.  

Relief flooded Kara.  Either he'd attributed her strange behavior to the conversation, or he was ignoring that anything had happened.  She'd happily accept either scenario.  Belatedly, the meaning of his words registered, and she swung back around, frowning.  He was leaning back on his desk, a good ten feet or so separating them, his arms crossed and expression neutral.

"I know about the nightmares, Kara."  He said it gently.  "How many times did the three of us - you, me, and Zak - pull all-nighters together?  We all fell asleep over the books sometimes, and yours wasn't always. . .restful."

"Right," she said mechanically, mouth dry.  "Did you ever. . .?"

"Ask Zak?  No.  I figured if you wanted it shared, you'd have shared it.  It wasn't any of my business, then."

He didn't need to add that it was, now.  That was just understood.  On a professional level, he had every right to display concern over something that might or might not effect her job performance.  On a personal level. . .she didn't want to think about that right now.

"Ok," she said, wiping a hand over her mouth.  "Ok."  She could feel it in the back of her throat, that hint of nausea returning.  Lords, she couldn't even think about the past without it.  "I guess the. . .um. . .simplest explanation works best."

Lee made some movement, looked like he was going to say something, but she held up a hand and shook her head.  If he stopped her, she wouldn't get through it.  

"I've had nightmares since I was eight.  Chronic.  Social workers made sure I had a bunch of fancy therapy, but it never really worked."  She threaded a hand through her short hair, paced.  "You wouldn't understand.  Neither did Zak, really.  You both had great childhoods.  I mean, sure, your parents got divorced.  Big deal."  She had to stop, take a couple of shallow breaths.  She shot a glance at Lee, something halfway between apologetic and accusatory.

"I don't mean to belittle it, Lee.  I don't.  But my childhood. . .let's just say it was less than ideal.  I won't talk about it, but if you want to look in my file, you can.  It's sealed, but the Commander can break it if you ask him.  Tell him I said it was ok.  That you should read it."

The hard part finished, she was able to stop pacing, regain some of her inner balance.  Lee was standing closer to her now, as if he'd started to come to her, and then thought better of it.

"I don't have them as often, anymore," she continued.  "Hadn't had one since Zak.  But they always came more in times of stress, and I'm sure this qualifies."

He cleared his throat, looked at her as if asking permission to speak.  She nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Will this. . .continue, do you think?" he asked hesitantly.  "I mean, we're likely to be under stress for a long time.  I should be asking as your commanding officer, asking if you think this will affect your ability to perform.  But I'm not.  I'm asking as your friend."

He leaned forward, and she froze.  _Please don't touch me, _she thought frantically.  _I don't want to cry again._  Maybe some of what she felt showed on her face, because he stopped.  

"I don't know," she said.  "I hope to hell not.  I mean, how self-centered would that be?  Only fifty-five thousand people left in our entire race, out of billions, and I lose sleep over some stupid childhood trauma."  She gave a shaky, humorless laugh.  "That's pretty pathetic."

"No," Lee disagreed immediately.  "It's not.  You're one of the strongest people I've ever known, Kara.  But give yourself a break."  He looked away, gave his temples an absent rub again.  "I've had dreams - nightmares - since Zak.  Does that make me weak?"

"Of course not."

He smiled.  "Then cut yourself some slack.  If you have to, see Dr. Salik for something to help you sleep."

For the first time since the conversation began, Kara began to feel back on familiar ground.  She gave a quick grin.  

"Like you, eh?  Take something for the headache, Lee."

He shook his head, as she'd known he would, and said exactly the right thing, to make everything right in the world, to put them back to where they'd been before this whole uncomfortable episode. 

"You look like hell, Kara.  Get out of my office.  Go, get some sleep."  

More relieved than she could say, she gave him a hint of her usual smirk, and threw in a mocking salute.

"Yes, sir.  Happy to obey, sir."  Turning smartly on her heel, she started for the door.

"And Kara. . ."  She stopped, didn't turn around.  "If you have anymore problems. . .come talk to me."

She nodded, gave a wave on her way out, didn't trust herself to say anything.  That sentence held too many layers, too many meanings for her to be comfortable with.  And in her current state of exhaustion, she was too emotionally on edge to deal with any of them.  

For the moment, she pushed it all from her mind, and obeyed orders.  She dragged herself first to the showers, then to her bunk.  And this time, when she collapsed face down into sleep, she wasn't troubled by dreams.


End file.
